You Don't Know
by miss.ouiser
Summary: One-shot short fic exploring Jean's thoughts in 2.10, after Jack's arrest but before Jean confronts the mob outside the house. My first Blake fic. I own nothing, am just borrowing them. Review if you have the time.
1. Chapter 1

" _Jean, I'm sorry. I didn't know."_

" _No, there's a lot you don't know."_

You don't know what I went through with my boys after Christopher died, how I wish I could have done better, how I failed them. That I long to see the world outside of Ballarat. That I don't like going to the movies alone.

You notice everything, but see nothing. Not among the living, anyway. When you are working on a case, you never stop questioning, investigating, badgering. But do you know my maiden name, my favorite colour, that _Persuasion_ is my favorite book, or that I don't like Brussels sprouts, but that I love chocolate?

You don't know how much it hurts that you don't ask. You don't know how much it hurts to be invisible.

You don't know that you aren't the only one in this house who is just going through the motions some days.

You don't know that I cringe every time you go near my plants. Or how badly I want to buy new furniture for the sitting room. But I am the housekeeper, not the homemaker. This is your house, not my home.

You don't know that I listen for you shouting in the darkness like a frightened child. You don't know how much I want to comfort you, to make the nightmares go away.

Do you know that you aren't the only one who cries in the night?

You don't know that I pray for you.

You don't know how hard it is some days to ignore the whispering.

You don't know that I lay awake at night, waiting to hear you come in the door. That it bothers me when you drink and drive. You don't know how much your drinking worries me.

You don't know how my heart contracts, watching you sail too close to the shore, wondering when you will wreck on the rocky coast. I will be there to pick up the pieces, but will I be enough?

You are like your mother's room, so much kept hidden and locked away, even from those who may be closest to you. It is as if you are afraid of what you will find if you unlock the door.

Do you know that when you don't get your way, or when you've made a mess of something, that you pout like a naughty school boy, and I cannot stay mad at you?

Do you know that when you smile, really smile, there is laughter in your eyes, and I can see the years fall away and I wonder how I can make you smile again?

And I pray to God that you don't know how hard I am trying to not fall in love with you.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Going through my usual January file clean-up and I came across this. I think I had posted it to Tumblr, but it really belongs as a second chapter here. Lucien's POV, set during 2.10.**

 **xxxxxxxxxx**

" _Jean, I'm sorry. I didn't know."_

" _No, there's a lot you don't know."_

But there's a lot I do.

I know that it has not always been easy for you, living in a house that is not yours, taking care of people who are not your family. I know that you enjoy the movies and music, and that you spend hours sewing clothes that you will never wear. That you are clever, very clever, and far more loyal than I deserve. I know that Robert was a fool and you were wasted as the manservant.

I know that you love your children much more than you like them, and I know how that feels.

I know that you sometimes cry yourself to sleep. But I don't know how to comfort you, or even if you want me to.

I know that you love to grow things. That I can always find you in the sunroom or the garden and that you cringe when I go near your plants.

I know that I can come to you whenever I need not just information, but clarity. You seem to know everything about everyone in Ballarat, but I know it is not simply gossip. You have lived your entire life here, and you have paid attention. And I know that you pay attention to me, sometimes much more closely than I would like.

I know that you think me distracted and inattentive and more than occasionally unappreciative, and I probably am, but I see all that you do around here. I see how you smirk or roll your eyes when I blow up the television or leave my autopsy tools in the sink or experiment using the roast you planned for dinner to try and solve a case. I saw you dancing in the sitting room when you thought no one was looking. I saw the way Richard looked at you that night, heard the way you laughed with him, and I wonder if I am not the only one who wakes up each morning feeling empty. But I don't know how to ask you.

I know that I want you to put on that green dress, that I want to take you to dinner and the theatre and hold you close while we dance and learn if your hair is as soft as it looks, but I will not give truth to the lies that are whispered about us. Because it matters to you.

I know that when you smile at me, really smile, that I forget how to breathe.

I don't know if there is a God, but I hope you pray for me. I don't know why you stay, but I hope you never leave.

And I don't know how to stop myself from falling in love with you.


End file.
